


merry molten core

by hanktalkin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Anarchronism, Christmas Party, Gen, Visiting Santa Claus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 03:38:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 987
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9053680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanktalkin/pseuds/hanktalkin
Summary: little bit of santa torb for the holidays :3





	

**Author's Note:**

> lots of characters that shouldn’t be in the same room but idc. this is bad don’t read this

“N – O, NO!” Torbjörn said for perhaps the eighth time.

“Oh come on, don’t be such a scrooge,” Mercy continued to pester him. “It’s festive! What better way to spend your time than brightening up everyone’s mood with a little Christmas cheer?”

“Dying, or anything else.”

“ _Torby_.”

“You can make Reinhardt do it, he’s the only one jolly enough. Either way, I’m not putting that thing on!” Torbjörn yelled, pointing at the small Santa costume in Mercy’s arms. “I’ll look ridiculous.”

“You spend ninety percent of your time with a giant metal claw for an arm,” Mercy pointed out.

“Oh, making fun of my disability, that’s sure to win you to my side.”

“You have a perfectly normal metal arm sitting foundry B and you know it!” Mercy snapped. She held up the costume once again. “Come on! It’s not Christmas without Santa.”

Torbjörn sighed. It was always hard to say no to the doctor, especially when she pouted. He eyed the small red suit once again.

“Promise me I won’t look like an idiot?”

Mercy grinned. “As your trusty elf, I’ll make sure you’re the most dignified Santa in the world.”

“Great,” Torbjörn said as he rubbed his face. “Setting the bar real high.”

* * *

His trusty elf turned to talk a lot of horseshit. Somehow, perhaps in the inevitability of life, he was put smack dab in of the Overwatch Christmas party, random heroes crawling over him and telling him all there heart’s desires.

“And I want a new pair of Zoom Airs, only better so they won’t wear through just going for a single run,” Tracer rattled off, plunked in Torbjörn’s lapped with her arms around his neck. “I want Rust Diving 2 for my mobile communicator, and if you could make it the enhanced edition that would be wicked! I also want the new season of Scorpion Knights _now_. I don’t think I can wait until March, I’m going to die! And I want CC 900 and Clara to kiss already, it’s been three bloody years!”

Torbjörn turned pleading eyes onto Mercy. She patted Tracer on the arm on the arm and said, “Santa’s very busy tonight Tracer. I think it’s someone else’s turn now.”

“Oh, right! Sorry!”

Tracer blinked out of Torbjörn’s lap and appeared next to Mercy, but the designer’s relief was short lived. Jumping into the spot Tracer had just evacuated, Lúcio began his turn.

“I really want to meet Olivia Rai. I’m doing this concert in San Francisco next week, and I sent her people some free back stages passes-”

“Lúcio! Santa’s not going to help you with your celebrity crush!” Tracer complained.

“Like asking for your TV relationship is any better!”

Lúcio was about ready to go on the defensive when Widowmaker dropped down onto the already full lap. There was a moment of awkward silence as Lúcio gawked at her, and Torbjörn would have put his head in his hands if they both weren’t trapped under a revolutionary and an assassin.

“I would like to regain my humanity,” Widowmaker said impassively.

No sooner had Torbjörn opened his mouth to say “uh…”, than Symmetra appeared. She summoned a hard light stool for herself, and sat next to the growing pile of wishers.

“I would like the end to all chaos and peace on the world through the natural order of the universe,” she said plainly.

“That’s the last straw!” Torbjörn tried unsuccessfully to push the others off of him, only managing to make his face more red—and not in the jolly sort of way. “Do any of you want an _actual_ present that isn’t some theoretical concept or a sense of purpose??”

They all looked at him thoughtfully, and shook their heads.

They were saved the small man blowing a gasket by the appearance of Reinhardt. A question never made past his lips, the scene taking in quickly by their friend, and a decision was reached.

“Now this is _not_ how you celebrate Christmas my friends!”

With no more effort than you or I would lift a cat, Reinhardt dumped the entire pile off the chair, and promptly sat there himself. He wasn’t finished there though, and grabbed the former occupants before they could scurry off. Plopping them onto his own lap, he laughed, scooping up Tracer and Symmetra as well. Somehow, all of them fit on top of the massive man.

“Hey!” Mercy yelled, when he pulled her into the pile for good measure.

As a finishing touch, he stole the Santa hat off of Torbjörn’s head.

“We now have proper wishing chair. It’s time to tell _der Weihnachtsmann_ what you want!”

They all started talking at once, some telling Reinhardt what he wanted to hear, other’s complaining they were being squished under several pairs of legs. From on Reinhardt’s shoulder, Tracer resumed her argument with Lúcio. Their new Santa could only a few seconds of the clamor before he thundered at them to calm down.

“Quiet!” he roared. “What is the matter with you all? This is not in the spirit of the season! This is about love and friendship, and you are bickering like you’ve forgotten your family.”

The group quieted, properly ashamed.

“Good. Does that mean you all remember the true meaning of Christmas?”

They all exchanged glances. Finally, Widowmaker spoke from where she was firmly squashed beneath Symmetra’s ass. “We must remember that whether big or small, all of our wishes are for ourselves. And if we want to be loved, we must love our family in return. Anyone who is not our family, we kill.”

This time, Reinhardt joined in on the slight alarm passed around the heroes.

“…Close enough.”

They all sighed, trying dislodge themselves from the tangle of limbs. Seeking a bit of help, Torbjörn asked, “does this mean we can go now?”

“On one condition,” Reinhardt replied cheerfully. “I get to keep the hat.”

“Knock yourself out, old friend.”


End file.
